Aloha, Crazy Gregg

Let's say a toast to Crazy Gregg Newell, who sold an ocean of beer during Spring Break and brought the kids -- and the cops -- to a beachfront bar known for its good times and bad reputation.

Oh, and along the way, he helped put sleepy little Fort Lauderdale on the map.

Crazy Gregg, you ask?

If you don't know the name, you probably weren't around when Fort Lauderdale beach was more about sex, sand and suds than highfalutin' hotels and well-heeled tourists whose idea of a grand time is shop excessively, drink moderately and sack out at 10.

So tonight the so-called "Father of Spring Break" will be the toast of the town when pals gather at the Parrot Lounge in his honor.

See, the guy who battled the cops and community over Spring Break now faces a much tougher fight.

In December, Crazy Gregg was diagnosed with terminal liver cancer. By his own estimate, he has maybe four months or so to party hearty.

Now, that news might take the spring out of most folks' steps. But Crazy Gregg isn't like most people.

His trademark propeller beanie is your first clue. What he did with his life is the next.

He was the man behind The Button, arguably the wildest, craziest Spring Break hot spot, at the corner of Las Olas Boulevard and A1A. Revered by the kids and reviled by adults, he made piles of money and gave lots of it away. He helped dozens of people get a leg up in business. And he provided more fun for folks than anyone has a right to have.

At a time when greed and self-absorption seemed like America's favorite sport, Crazy Gregg lived a different kind of life. It wasn't all about him; it was about you.

"I just liked to see people happy and having fun," says Crazy Gregg. "That's what it was all about to me. Everybody's got a happy face."

Friends who've known him for years say it's true.

"Crazy Gregg was generous in so many ways," says Tim Schiavone, a partner in the Parrot Lounge. "He gave you opportunity and a helping hand. He gave you his time, his money. He definitely spread the wealth. He took our little town and turned it into a mega town. Everything he did was big."

At 69, Crazy Gregg looks more like an aging grandfather than a party animal. He wears a Hawaiian shirt and a button on his beanie reads I Ate It Raw. Oysters, that is.

For a dozen years, he's run Speedboat Adventures, high-speed boat rides to thrill tourists. He operates off a dock across the street from where his beloved Button once stood. (It's now a parking lot.)

"He hasn't just seen history," says Dan Santoro, a Fort Lauderdale advertising salesman who worked at The Button. "He made it."

Enter the button

For those unfamiliar with Crazy Gregg's story, here's a Cliffs Notes version.

Like so many who came later, he discovered Fort Lauderdale on Spring Break from Purdue University in Indiana. After graduation, he moved here in 1955 and eventually got into the bar business.

During the '60s, he held court as bartender at the legendary Elbo Room. The nickname surfaced after Busch beer hit the market and the local rep practically gave it away. Signs all over the beach said "Gregg must be CRAZY for selling Busch at 40 cents a bottle."

The name stuck. Of course, his crazy ways helped boost the reputation.

Like when he arrived at a party in a helicopter and jumped to the ground because the copter couldn't legally land. Or like when he wanted to open a club at the beachfront Holiday Inn and the manager balked. So one night after the restaurant closed, Crazy Gregg knocked down a few walls with a sledge hammer to get it started.

Thus began The Button in 1970, and the rest is Spring Break history.

Crazy Gregg started Spring Break contests, pitting one college against another. Innocent stuff, he insists, like Hula-Hoop contests. And less innocent stuff, like wet T-shirt and banana-eating contests that were either silly games or salacious scenes, depending on who's talking.

For the record, Crazy Gregg says he tried to tame the tiger, but the kids kept coming. In 1983, he sold out and became a "consultant" to The Button. Then in 1985, 350,000 kids bombarded the beach.

Spring Break had turned into an out-of-control teenager, and it was time for tough love. So the city killed the tradition, spiffed up the beach and you know the rest.

But Crazy Gregg's license plate still says Crazy and his mark on Fort Lauderdale is indelible.

"I got just a little too old to grow up," he says. These days, he's been busy visiting old friends, checking out the NASCAR races in Charlotte and taking chemotherapy treatments.

In the last few weeks, he's heard from legions of folks now telling him thanks for everything. For the jobs. For the leg up. For the financial help. For the good times and great memories.